


Winter's Fire

by d4eaming



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:27:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d4eaming/pseuds/d4eaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Male mage Lavellan and Dorian have an alternate conversation about what they want out of a relationship, as opposed to the in-game option when Dorian seeks out the Inquisitor.</p><p>It's fluffy, with mild romance.</p><p>I may write more. I don't know yet :X</p><p>word count: 3000</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter's Fire

The blizzard had been raging for some time, snow lashing violently against the window panes. Wind whistled around the eaves, giving the dimly lit room an air of unease. There’d been work to do- important work, so they said, just as they always did- but as the sun had set, and the clouds encroached across the skies, the mounting danger of a storm had necessitated a change of plans. Scouts were pulled back, were they within a short enough distance to beat the snow, and soldiers had been sent scurrying to fortify the cracks and crevices of Skyhold that had yet to be repaired. 

There was little else to do but batten down and wait it out. The people would come to him in the morn with their troubles whether the storm had abated or not, of that he was certain. A lost druffalo, or a lost child, it was always the same. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- refuse them. But until that time, Skyhold remained cloaked, and the people who made it their home seemed resigned to keep their own council. It’d been a blissfully quiet eve thus far. 

Devhai set aside the journal, laying it with pages splayed open upon the fur rug. The crackling fire tossed shadows across the floor while its warmth soothed the cold from his fingertips. Buffets of wind shook the glass doors flanking the fireplace, rattling the panes in their sils. It was an almost eerie sound, reminiscent of wild beasts scrabbling across rock in the cover of darkness while the clan rested for the night. 

He trailed fingers through the plush fur beneath him as he watched the flames dance. Embers floated upward like little wisps, sparkling and dancing, then winking out of sight. Devhai’s brows sank as his gaze fell to the journal at his knee; he’d barely written anything this night despite the thoughts flitting through his head nonstop. A waste of ink, as the pot had begun to dry already. He’d need to request a new one from the library. 

A scuff of heel against stone snapped his from his idle reverie. Instinctively, he grasped for his staff, yet caught nothing but air. With a glance to his left, he confirmed it was still indeed where he’d left it, laid across his unused desk, its staff glinting mockingly. 

“Fenedhis!” The word slipped from his lips before he could stop himself, no doubt alerting whomever approached on the stairs of his presence. 

“I do hope you haven’t just cursed me with some withering disease. Or premature hairloss.” A dark head of hair came into view, followed quickly by the smirking Tevinter. Dorian paused at the landing, hand resting atop the stone bannister. “I’m not certain which would be worse.” 

Devhai sunk back down, the corners of his mouth turning up in the hint of a smile. “Era seranna ma, Dorian, I was distracted. It’s… impolite, and doesn’t translate well.” He flicked the journal closed with a snap and nudged it to the side. 

Dorian tilted his head to the side. “Do you ever stop working?” 

“I could ask the same of you, always pouring over books and foul smelling manuscripts.” 

“Ah yes, a fair point, you have got me there.” The Tevinter stepped away from the landing to approach the fireplace where he raised a darkened bottle that had been obscured at his side and set it on the mantle. “Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose.” 

He raised a brow as he bent one leg to rest his elbow over his knee. “You brought wine?” 

“It’s been in the cupboard gathering dust; such a sad fate for such a fine drink.” Dorian watched him as though expecting something, eventually letting out a snort as the silence drew on. 

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re going to drink the wine for its own wellbeing?” He raised a brow, biting at his lip to withhold grinning too broadly. 

“Well, I certainly would not be drinking it for my own wellbeing, now would I?” Dorian scratched a nail across his chin, then flicked his fingers. “That would be selfish.” 

He hiked a brow. “A likely story.” 

“All right, I admit I grew tired of that dog’s piss they call brandy down in the tav. I can only stomach so much before my insides rebel.” 

The grin crept over his face despite all efforts, and he finally gave in, laughing under his breath while shaking his head. Dorian was little more than a dark silhouette against the even darker panes of glass behind him, with the fire shining light across his eyes when the flames burst brighter. “Enjoying the weather?” 

Dorian’s smile turned down as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his weight to one side until his shoulder pressed against the fireplace mantle. He could just see the overly exaggerated frown, the vague puff of lip. 

“In a word: no. I’m not certain how you heathens bare it. The eaves sound like wailing cats, the shutters creak like an old maid’s rocking chair, and the cold seeps like death itself.” 

“Yet, you stay. So it can’t be all bad, can it?” 

“Not all bad.” He gave a quick nod and stepped forward. The metal embellishments adorning his otherwise plain clothing flashed and sparkled as he moved. “Mind if I sit?” 

“Of course.” He shifted a bit closer to the warmth of the fire, making room on the fur. “Truth be told, I never liked the cold either. We made fire when we could, but it’s like lighting a beacon at the ocean’s shore. Nothing more than a signal of where to find us. We often made due with many blankets and sharing heat with friends.” 

Dorian knelt beside him first, inclining his head just so, then eased down, stretching out both legs behind him while leaning on one hand. Devhai turned his attention back to the crackling fire, head tilted down, focusing on the way the tendrils of flame licked at the ash-stained firebox. He felt a touch of heat at his ears that hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

“You miss them. It must be difficult. I can’t imagine how strange this place must be to you.” 

With a nod, he closed his eyes. It was easy enough to imagine the sound of the aravels, the scent of halla, the voices of his friends and elders, though all brought with it an ache. He’d had Sister Nightengale send them word using elves, safely relaying the state of his current whereabouts and that all was- mostly- well, but he’d had no time to write anything more personal to send to them. “Keeper Deshanna is a kind woman, but strict and duty driven. She’s a fine mentor, and taught me all I know about magic. My best friend, a hunter named Zalren, recently joined with his long time love. I spent little time with the others, as my training was consuming, but we rarely conflicted.” 

“Do you wish to return, once this is all over? We could find the means to bring down Corypheus next week, or a year from now. Would they wait so long for you?”

“I’ve considered that. I plan to send Keeper Deshanna a letter advising that it may be best to begin training another mage. Who can say I’d survive to the end?” 

“You’ve quite deftly dodged answering the question. It was a simple yes or no, but now you’ve gone and made it complicated and vague.”

 He snorted a laugh at the obvious exasperation in Dorian’s voice, picturing his suave smile coupled with a roll of the eyes. The Tevinter was right, however, and he knew the non-answer must have been unconvincing. 

“At first, yes. That was all I wanted. I didn’t want this, whatever this really is.” Devhai opened his left hand, lifting the palm upward. The phosphorescent green glow was dormant at Skyhold, away from the rifts in the fade. “I’ve been training to lead a few dozen people, all of them I’ve known for years, some for my entire life. Now, I’m commanding soldiers and spies with the help of human advisors. I can’t possibly know all of their names, their faces, who their families are. My training didn’t prepare me for anything like this.” 

Dorian shifted behind him, and he felt a light touch to his shoulder. It was brief, tentative before fading away. “You’re talking yourself into knots, and you still haven’t clarified anything. In fact, you may be muddying it even more.” The Tevinter held up a finger as he turned to reply, his smile now gentle. “Don’t force the issue on my account. I understand the answer is not always easy.” 

Devhai smiled and turned to face the opposite direction of Dorian, stretching out until his feet were closer to the Tevinter’s upper torso. The firelight gave his tanned skin a golden glow, and lit up his grey eyes. Even the perfectly coiffed top of his hair shone. “I could find reasons to stay, I’m sure. There can always be another First to my clan.” 

“Excellent!” Dorian grinned, his entire face lighting up. “Enough of this somber discussion, we have wine. But do tell me, why are you here on a fur rug on the floor, writing in a book, when you have a perfectly serviceable couch, a sturdy desk, and a positively opulent bed? Wouldn’t one of those be much more comfortable?”

 He laughed as he glanced aside, grateful for the sudden shift in conversation. “I’ve spent my life on bedrolls and small wooden stools, the fur is far from uncomfortable. Besides, it’s warmer here by the fire.” 

Dorian all but hopped to his feet and picked up the bottle he’d sat on the mantle. A quick twist of the wire around the neck, and the cork popped free, flying across the room and thumping against the far wall. Some of the golden liquid inside foamed to the floor with a splat, but Dorian quickly wrangled it into submission. With a wry smile, he looked around the room. “I seem to have forgotten glasses. Would it be a terribly uncouth to drink straight from the tap?” 

“I’ve never been accused of elegance.” He pulled a knee up to his chest, wrapping an arm around his leg. Despite the fire, his skin still prickled each time a gust clamored against the balcony doors. 

The Tevinter settled down beside and slightly behind him, holding out the bottle. With a brow cocked, he took the proffered drink and raised it to his lips, inhaling the scent. It was fruity, a mix of berries, but with an underlying sharpness that burned his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose, failing to hold back a grimace. Still, Dorian had brought it, and it’d have been rude to refuse. Devhai brought it to his lips and tilted the bottle back, letting the liquid wash across his tongue. 

Jerking the bottle away, he leaned forward with a sputtering cough, pressing a hand over his mouth. An unpleasant hotness filled his nose, and his mouth burned as if he’d swallowed an astringent. The bubbling wine had felt odd, little tiny pinpricks of a needle. He was sure his face looked as terrible as the drink had tasted, mouth twisted into a frown. Shaking his head, he set the bottle aside and half turned toward Dorian, who had one elegant eyebrow hitched.

 “I take it you’ve never had the pleasure of wine before?” The Tevinter was half smiling, one side of his mouth raised into a lopsided grin.

 “That’s supposed to be a pleasure? I think it scoured my tastebuds off.”

 Dorian tossed back his head and laughed, snagging the bottle to himself and taking a long swig. “More for me, then. I’m sure we can find one to suit your delicate tongue, we don’t want you losing your sense of taste. Maybe something not sparkling next time?” He took another drink, then set the bottle aside. 

“If that’s better than what’s at the tav, I think I’m perfectly content to stick with water.” 

He heard an amused hmph at his right ear. Were he to guess, he’d be finding more bottles scattered around his room come the next afternoon- all in an effort to find the drink that was just right for his tastes. He couldn’t accuse Dorian of anything less than generous when it came to sharing an enjoyable time together- clearly, a fine drink was a part of that time, so he’d at least put in the effort of trying them. 

“When do you think the blizzard-?” 

A warm breath washed across the back of his neck, sending a prickling shiver down his spine. Moments after, warm fingers alighted against his shoulder, the tip of one drawing slowly across the bared skin at his collar. Devhai closed his eyes as lips pressed against his throat and a wet tongue darted against his flesh. He could feel heat spread across his cheeks to his ears as Dorian trailed light kisses up to his earlobe, the Tevinter’s mustache tickling at his skin.

 “Too soon, perhaps. I could conjure up plenty of distraction from the cold- were you so inclined.”

 Dorian pulled the edge of his earlobe between both lips, tugging gently with his teeth. He closed his eyes, leaning into the affection despite himself, a grin playing across his lips. A slow breath eased over his ear, then a murmur. Teeth nibbled, and another lick. The hair at the back of his neck prickled; bumps spread across his arms. His belly quivered nervously, but still, he didn’t pull away. 

“Are you sure that’s where you want to go? I could die tomorrow, Dori. Would it be worth it?” Devhai raised a tentative hand, reaching backward to comb his fingers through Dorian’s hair, trailing along the curve of his skull to the back of his head, and resting there. 

“The better question is, ‘are you so inclined?’ I can handle just one night, I’m used to it. Can you?” Dorian slid a hand against the side of his throat, cupping his ear between two fingers, his thumb rubbing against his skin. 

“What if it’s not just one night?” He leaned into Dorian’s hand, his own fingers twirling locks of the Tevinter’s hair. “Would you be so inclined?” 

“Is that… Is that what you would prefer?”

 He could sense Dorian hesitate, his body heat dissipating as he leaned back slightly. Devhai looked at the fire, head tilting to the side. He withdrew his hand from Dorian’s hair, instead placing it atop the hand that still rested at his throat. What did he want? Had he even thought that far ahead? Slipping his fingers against Dorian’s, he linked them together and pulled Dorian’s arm around himself. 

“I want it to mean something more. Something deeper. I don’t just want the physical. If I wanted that, I could have had it already.” He trailed his fingers across Dorian’s bare shoulder and dared to lean back against him, grateful when the man didn’t retreat.

 “Indeed, you could have. At a moment’s notice, in fact.” Dorian’s chin pressed against his shoulder and the arm tightened around him. “So, you want this to last more than one night?” 

“I’ve never done this before. I’m not certain exactly what I want.” 

Dorian snorted against his ear. “I’ve gathered so much. The painfully shy blush that tinges your ears the color of claret gave you away quite some time ago.” He followed it up with a soft hmm. “So, you’ve truly never-?” 

“I never had time to-” 

“You don’t just mean sex, then.” 

He felt the heat wash over his cheeks, and found himself thankful the fire light would mask it. “I’ve never done anything. My training was too important. What do we do first? This? I don’t have enough fancy clothes for proper courting.” 

The Tevinter let out a hearty laugh that filled the room and all but buried his face against his throat, the finely groomed mustache tickling his skin as his laughter tapered off into an almost adolescent giggle. “Oh, you want to court, do you? Should I send a letter of request to your Keeper to ask permission, first?” 

Devhai bit at his lip, his ears burning as he leaned forward, untangling from Dorian’s half hug. “If that’s not what you want-” 

“Oh, Amatus.” Fingers stroked along his jaw to his chin, turning him back to look at Dorian whose face was soft, one side of his lips curled partly into a smile. “I apologize, I didn’t mean it that way. I was merely… surprised. It sounds positively delightful.” Dorian brushed his thumb across his lower lip. “Let’s court, no need to rush. Nor give them gossip to twitter about behind our backs. Then we will see where this leads, hmm?” 

“I’m sure they’ll find something to gossip about.” Devhai smiled, the knot in his belly loosening itself, the moment of sudden embarrassment fading away with Dorian’s reassurances. Those grey eyes were bright and focused on him, and he could see no judgement of his desires there. “Let’s see, then.” 

“Is there to be more than just talking, though? I had thought there was to be some stealing of your soul involved.” Dorian grinned. “There is soul stealing, isn’t there?” 

Devhai snorted, the tension breaking from his shoulders and the muscles along his back relaxing. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d felt, but somehow the Tevinter Altus had managed to ease it away with mere words. “As long as you promise to return it when you’re finished.” 

“Oh, I may borrow it often, then!” 

Dorian leaned closer, pressing lips to his throat as one hand moved up to slide through his hair again. He felt a hint of teeth, a flick of tongue, and his flesh all but quivered. Another hand pressed against his flank, following the curve of his ribs, then slid down to rest lightly against his navel. He closed his eyes, letting the sensations wash over him, marvelling at how such a light touch could light his belly on fire. Raising a hand, he trailed his fingers over Dorian’s rounded ear. 

While the blizzard continued to buffet the glass doors at either side of the roaring fire, tendrils of frigid air occasionally wisping across his skin, he felt decidedly warm in the hands of Dorian Pavus.


End file.
